


Free Hugs

by Jordswriteswords



Series: A Series of Unavoidable Prompts [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aden is a cute kid, Clarke always loved her, Even death, Everything Hurts, F/F, Heavy Angst, Lexa dies but comes back to life, Lexa is always selfless, Lots of Crying, Love Conquers All
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:36:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jordswriteswords/pseuds/Jordswriteswords
Summary: A prompt I received:Your hugs heal people, but it comes with a cost: it decreases your own lifespan by 5%. Only the richest of the rich come to see you. You've cured people of AIDS, cancer, terminal illnesses and more; however, there are poor children dying and the urge to help them is too strong. The injustice is making you depressed. You set out to a local children's hospital that treats children with terminal illnesses with a piece of cardboard that says, "free hugs".ORLexa has always served her people.





	Free Hugs

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first of all, this is supposed to end at the asterisks, but I realized some of y'all would skin me alive if I left it at that, so I attached the alternate ending as well. Read as far along as you want. Secondly, I wrote this randomly to try to fix my writer's block and it hasn't been edited so go easy on me. Thirdly, it just hurts. All of it. I cried writing it. TW to basically everything that can make you cry, because there are so many tears in this bad boy. Don't hate me.

You’ve always loved her, so much that it hurt. So much that that’s the reason you left her.

You knew she loved you too, always had. You’ve known her your whole life, and after the first time she saw it happen, saw you heal her father while he coughed and deteriorated in his hospital bed, she knew that there would always be an invisible wall between you two physically, but never emotionally. She professed her love for you when you were seven, under a cherry tree, gripping your hand tightly with the confession, and you gripped her back just as tightly. Since that moment, she’s loved you with her looks, with her words, with her soft touches. She comforted you with a grazing of your collarbone, with a hold of the hand, but never an embrace. She loved you too much to do that. When she finally kissed you at eighteen, she was leaning over the other side of your wooden fence. She told you she needed to know she wouldn’t hurt you when she did it. You laughed. You have the power to heal, and she was worried about  _ you _ being hurt. Whenever she was ill and you tried to help her, it’d end in a screaming match, her broken and sobbing, begging you to stop being so selfless, while she cried over her selfishness of wanting you forever. She didn’t want to lose you. So you loved her with soup, and kisses, and squeezing her hand until she would get better. 

You loved her so much.

When she told you she was pregnant, that the treatment finally worked, she kissed you from the other side of the counter as the tears streamed down your face. She cupped your cheeks and whispered her love over and over as your body shook with love, but also fear. You loved her so much that you never told her that this would ruin you. You never told her that the thought of never being able to hold your baby, never being able to tell him how much you loved him while holding him close to you was tearing you up inside.

You loved her so much that you knew you had to leave. You just couldn’t explain to your child why you weren’t allowed to touch him, although it would make him always feel better. He’d always feel better.

Six months later, while she slept on her separate mattress, you packed your things, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered your love for her in her hair, gently kissing every spot you could without stirring her. You grazed your hand along her bulging stomach and whispered how sorry you were to your unborn child. How you knew that he was going to be the best thing to ever happen to you both, and how you just wished you could stay. You left the only letter you’ve ever written on the bedside table, knowing that it wasn’t enough, but it was all you could give her as a way of explanation. You knew it would never be enough. She deserved so much more.

Six years, and you never stopped loving her. Six years, the thought of your two perfect blondes always making your heart ache while it beat in your chest. Six years of the richest of the rich, willingly opening their arms for your hugs, while all you could think of was the fact that the one who loved you so much never would. Six years of pure and utter heartbreak while you served your people. But were you really serving your people if you only helped the greediest of them all?

That’s why you’re here now, standing in St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital with a sign that says ‘FREE HUGS’. You’ve not got much time anymore, and you want to finally help the ones who deserve it, heal the ones who truly need it. 

You can’t stay in this world without her anymore, and you’re tired of the ones that don’t love you holding you close for their own gain. At least, here, the little bodies that you’ll hold will remind you of the boy you never had the chance to.

You haven’t much of them left. Two or three hugs at maximum, but you’ll willingly give it to the child in the corner if her parents will let her. You can see their pain stricken faces as their child struggles for breath, hear the quiet sobs as a boy not much older than the girl in the bed struggles to understand why he has to say goodbye to his sister when she only just got here.

“Lexa?” You hear. You’ve heard that voice, you’ve missed that voice. You’ve craved that voice. Now you’re terrified of that voice. Why is that voice here? 

As you slowly turn, you see the blue eyes you’ve always loved gazing curiously, worriedly at you from the hallway. 

“Clarke,” you breathe out. You’re not sure if the name actually falls from your lips or if you’ve already given your last hug and have moved on. Why is she here? It takes you much too long to process it.

“Lexa,” she breathes, and your heart stutters again. Her eyes are tired, red rimmed with bags underneath, but she still looks as beautiful as ever. She’s thinned out, her face gaunt, her hair dishevelled. She stands behind a wheelchair, and your eyes fall to the occupant. It’s a small boy, blonde hair and blue eyes so much like the ones you fell in love with all those years ago looking curiously at you. He’s wearing a hospital gown with too many needles in his arms and a breathing apparatus in his nose. Too many pieces of equipment for such a small frame. His cheeks are hollow, but he’s still the most handsome kid you’ve seen. He looks like a tough little warrior.

“Mama, who’s that?” he asks, and you can hear the laboured breathing while he speaks.

She swallows, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of the tears you know you’re causing. You want to reach out to her, you want to trace the lines of worry on her forehead until they disappear completely. You want to kiss the freckle above her lip and thread your fingers through her hair like you’ve done so many times. Like you’ve missed for six years. There’s too much to say, too many “I'm sorry”'s that need to be said, too many moments missed. It’s all too much.

“Mama?” the boy asks again, reaching up and tugging on her shirt. The shirt, your shirt. Your shirt from university, the one she stole and wrapped herself in every night when you were in class. The one you peeled off her every night when you finally came home, just to stand back and stare at the love of your life while your skin tingled with the touches you couldn’t give. The shirt she wore when she nervously asked you for forever, the shirt she wore when she told you she was pregnant.

Your throat closes up when you realize that it is your son in the wheelchair. It's your  _ son _ .

“Aden, it’s --”

“I only have two hugs left,” you interrupt. You let out a bitter laugh. This was always inevitable. She had to be here, your son had to be sick, and you had to only find out when it was too late to be in his life. The universe is cruel.

Both blondes gaze at you, one’s eyes filled with curiosity, the other with the pain you don’t think you can live to see. You’ve only got two hugs left, you can’t let that sight be the last one you see.

You stand from your seat, the cold, hard plastic creaking as you move. Clarke’s eyes widen as she follows your gaze to just over her shoulder. You take a step towards them and she turns back to you, the fear written as plain as day on the love of your life’s face. Your heart splinters at the sight. You’re struggling to breathe and she knows that. She knows this is the end. She runs her hand along your shoulder as you move, the touch as loving as it was the first time she ever did it. It speaks the words that you know, in this moment, neither of you can say.

“I need to do this,” you whisper.

“I know,” she responds.

You move past them to the family that was crying in the corner, the one with the little girl struggling to stay awake, stay talking to her brother, stay  _ alive _ . You smile softly at the parents -- they know who you are, they just don’t want to ask. They tell you they have no money. You tell them it’s alright, that they, of all people, deserve this. You hug the little girl, and feel her deep gasp as she inhales a lungfull for probably the first time in her short life. You feel the warmth flood her body as she heals and mends her tiny little frame. You hear her heartbeat, weak at first, start to beat stronger and stronger as the moments tick by. 

When you release her, your heart hurts. You’re dizzy and your lungs feel like they can’t expand the way they should, but when the little girl jumps out of bed into her parent’s arms, and her father breaks down into a mess of tears and loud sobs, you relish in the sound.

It takes more effort than it should to turn and see the love of your life again.

She’s crying, the tears streaming down her face. You want to console her, to tell her that everything will be okay, that she and Aden will be safe, but the words die on your tongue when the boy, with furrowed brows that are so much like his mother, says, “You’re my mom.”

You suck in a deep breath, clench your fists behind your back and nod at him. Clarke has told him of you. It’s a relief as much as it shatters you. He’s sick, and his mom can heal, and he’s probably confused why she never healed him. He’s probably confused how he ended up sick when his mom was touched with a healing embrace. The universe is so, so cruel.

“I think --” your voice is hoarse with emotion and the struggle to remain standing. You’ve only got one hug left.

“I think it’s time we finally met,” you say. “Can I get a hug?” 

Clarke grabs onto Aden’s shoulder. “Lexa, no, please,” she begs, her voice cracking. “Please don’t do this. I can’t --” She shakes her head as the tears slip out. “I can’t lose you.” It’s barely a whisper, but the words hit you straight in the heart. Your heart that struggles to beat. You’ve only got one hug left.

“Clarke,” you say softly, the way you know takes her breath away. It does just that, the sharp inhale audible from even the distance between you two. “Please, let me hug my son. Please don’t let it go to someone else.”

She shakes as she stands there, and you want to run to her, to use your final embrace on the woman you love so, so much. To feel her touch, finally after all these years, but you know that she won’t let you. She loves you too much.

“Thank you for loving me,” you whisper. To this day, you don't feel like you've ever deserved it. You could never give yourself to Clarke the way she deserved. 

“Loving you was the best thing to ever happen to me,” she says. A sob rips it's way from her throat suddenly, and she covers it and closes her eyes as the tears push free. In this moment, you really, truly want to disagree. You never wanted to hurt her. You only ever wanted to love her. You pray that it was enough.

“I love you so much,” she whispers, the tears choking her. “I’ve never stopped loving you, you need to know that. You need to know that, Lexa.” Her grip on Aden’s shoulders tighten further, her knuckles white. 

“I love you too, I’ll always be with you,” you whisper.  “Please let me do this,” you beg. Your voice cracks again, your heart splitting open at what this means.

Clarke sucks in a shaky breath, her eyes darting helplessly all over your face, memorizing your features in the same way that you’re memorizing hers. She finally nods and helps Aden to stand from his chair. His little legs wobble as his tiny feet hit the cold tile. You squat down in front of him, refusing to look back at the stormy blue eyes you’ve loved for so long. Clarke moves behind you, her hand on your shoulder, thumb stroking your neck in the way she always did before. You’re grateful because you know you’ll hesitate if you see her now. You can’t hesitate. You already feel the tears streaming down your face. You cup his cheeks, giving yourself the opportunity to look at him for the first and last time. He looks so much like his mother, but you can see the little fighter in him, the one that Clarke always said she could see in your eyes when you felt like the world was crashing in on you.

“Take care of your mama, Aden,” you say. You barely make it through the sentence before the lump in your throat chokes you into silence. 

He nods and raises his tiny hands to your face, brushing the tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You could barely see him with the tears clouding your vision, and now you can’t see at all.

“I can't let you do this.” He sounds so much older than the six years you know him to be.

“Please,” you beg. Your voice cracks and Clarke's grip on your shoulder tightens. You can see your son fighting with himself over this and you just want to hold him. Just once. 

“I love you, mom,” he whispers. You don’t hesitate when you pull him to your chest. You don't feel anything but the tiny arms around your neck, don't hear anything but the desperate “Lexa,” from the woman you love and the soft inhale of the boy you’ll never know. You don’t hesitate, you’ve never been more sure.

You breathe your last breath with a smile on your lips, your little boy in your arms and the woman you’ve always, always loved next to you.

 

****

 

It's not dark. It's red behind your eyelids. The light of what you know is the afterlife shining in your eyes, forcing you to acknowledge it. Your heart burns in your chest at the thought and you clench your eyes tighter. You’re not ready. You’d rather stay in the blackness than open your eyes to know that you’ll never see the blue that always took your breath away while making you feel like you could finally breathe. You’ll never see them again, and you don’t know why you’re conscious now. You don’t know why it hurts so much.

You thought that hell was knowing that you’ll never touch the one you love, but it’s become apparent that hell is never being able to be in the same realm. That is true hell. You can’t help but feel like you deserved it.

You hear a hum, low and insistent. It sounds mechanical. It’s weird. You strain your ears to hear it, still too afraid to open your eyes. Still too broken to acknowledge that it's all over. You had hoped you’d feel relieved once everything stopped, but all you feel is  _ broken _ .

When you finally, finally force your eyes open, you’re blinded by a bright white light. Your heart splinters further as you immediately think of early mornings with Clarke, soft golden light creating a halo around her head, encapsulating her angelic features. You miss it. You miss her. You don’t think you’ll ever understand why the universe did this. It is so cruel. You clench your eyes shut again, needing more time to gather yourself before you acknowledge your fate.

The hum from earlier is replaced by by a low, incessant beeping and a pressure on the first finger of your left hand. It feels like something is pressing down on it, and when you wiggle your fingers to rid yourself of the pressure, the beeping turns into a long, shrill note.

This really is hell.

There’s a shuffling noise, and you force your eyes open once more, determined to swallow down your fear of being alone in the afterlife, so far from the only person you’ve ever loved. You don’t have a choice here. You’ve always been a fighter, and if you need to fight back the pain of being forever alone, then you’ll give a stiff upper lip and do so. Clarke would hate to see you so broken.

The light is still blinding, and the beeping hasn’t stopped, but the pressure on your finger has turned into a warm pressure on your hand that feels so similarly to Clarke’s -- you know because you’ve spent your whole life holding her fingers between yours, but you refuse to close your eyes again until they adjust. 

Turning your head, you meet the curious eyes of the little boy that looks so much like her and you feel a sob work it’s way from your throat. You thought you had one hug left. You didn’t have any. He didn’t make it either. You’ve left Clarke alone forever and took her only child, her only piece of you with you to the afterlife. You had all this power, and you couldn’t save the only person that really mattered. 

He’s still in his hospital gown, but his cheeks are rosy, his eyes a bright shade of blue, and he doesn’t have any needles attached to him anymore. He looks healthy and you feel sick because it’s all just an illusion -- he’s dead.

“Mom?” he asks, and although you felt like your heart couldn’t break any further, it shatters into pieces. 

He’s dead, and so are you.

“Mama,” Aden says, his voice watery and cracking at the end. “Mama!” he says louder, scared. He should be. You’ve killed him. The pressure on your hand squeezes again, matching the squeeze of your heart, and you finally, finally look down at it. You see the head of hair you’ve loved so much, the dark brown that's just barely there, interspersed with the blonde.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t understand.

Clarke looks up, her stormy blue eyes meeting yours and you feel like the entire universe is crashing down on you all over again. You feel like you’re being hit with wave after wave of pain and elation, and you just can't catch your breath, but you aren't even sure if you want to. Your heart tingles and beats loudly, and the shrill noise of the heart monitor bothers your ears. A nurse comes in, startles at your sudden wakefulness, and turns off the monitor before leaving quietly.

Who the hell is that? Why are they in your afterlife?

“Clarke?” you croak out. You still click the 'k’ the way you know she melts at even though your voice shakes with the nerves that this is all just some sick joke. The universe has been so cruel that you wouldn't doubt it.

Her voice hitches, and immediately tears spring into her eyes, the blue becoming brighter with the shimmer.

You don’t understand.

“Am I dead?” you ask, worry clearly written on your face. You must be.

Clarke laughs, and your heart squeezes at the sound. You’ve always loved her laugh, loud and free and so full of  _ life. _

“Baby, no.” She reaches for your face, wipes your tears from your cheeks, and you cup your hand around hers as it sits there warming your skin. 

You’re not dead.

“I should be,” you whisper, more tears leaking from your eyes. 

You don't understand.

“I wish I could explain what happened,” Clarke whispers back. You both don’t want to raise your voices in hopes that it won’t rip the world away from you and send you into death where you belong. You gave everything you had away, you shouldn't be alive.

Aden moves over to her, nervously making his way to stand closer to the bed. “There was a bright light when you finally hugged Aden. The light was blinding, Lexa, I’ve never --” she shakes her head. “I’ve never seen it before when you hugged anyone. It was like a flame. But you… you didn’t die. I don't know, Lexa.”

“I don't--” Words escape you. “I don’t understand.” You know you’re crying, blinking rapidly to stop your tears from blurring your vision in hopes that you don't lose sight of the woman you love. If you lose sight of her, you might never find your way back through the afterlife to see her again.

“I think you’re free,” she whispers, tears now streaming down her own face. She leans forward, itching to be closer to you, but hesitant in case you're not truly, really free at all. Clarke has never, ever wanted to hurt you. You can see the longing in her eyes and you're sure yours are the same.

“You’re free, mom,” Aden chimes in. He looks so healthy and you almost don't recognize him as the boy that was on the wrong end of a countdown only a few hours or days ago, you're not sure how long it's been. 

“I’m free?” you ask, incredulous. You breathe in, and you do, in fact, feel lighter. You feel… strange, but good. The weight you’ve carried on your shoulders since you were a small child feels like it’s finally gone. It feels like you’ve served your sentence, and have finally been granted immunity from the cruelty of the universe.

Clarke nods, drying her tears that seem to just replace the previous ones every time she wipes them, while Aden hesitantly rubs the back of your hand with his fingers. You turn your palm over to run your fingers on his wrist, needing to feel his pulse to know he's real, he's alive. He grasps onto your fingers with his own tiny ones, lacing your hands together, and your heart swells in size. Your body tingles, wanting to reach out to the love of your life and hold her close and tell her that it's going to be okay, that you're all safe now.

You sit up abruptly, fighting the dizziness that immediately sets in from the quick motion. You’re free. You’re free, and you want to touch the woman you love for the first time, and it just cannot wait any longer because you can finally do just that.

“Lexa --” Clarke chides, but before she can finish you’re launching yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and crashing your lips against hers. It's been six years, yet she tastes the same way as always. -- warm, sweet and oh so  _ Clarke _ . She squeaks and stiffens for a second before her arms are wrapped tightly around your waist and she returns the kiss with as much passion as every kiss from six years ago. You can’t stop the guttural sob that rips its way from your chest when you finally, finally feel the warmth of her body pressed into yours, the weight of her arms around your waist, the smell of her skin. It's dizzying. It’s been so long overdue that you don’t think you could possibly survive another second without her wrapped around you.

“Clarke,” you whisper. You pull back just enough to rest your forehead against hers, refusing to relinquish your hold around her neck. You can feel her body shake with silent sobs. “I’m free,” you say with a smile you haven’t felt on your lips for six years. “I’m free,” you croak again, a lump in your throat forming regardless of your utter excitement. You claw at her back, burying your nose against her pulse point just to prove to yourself that she is, in fact, alive, and this isn't just another cruel joke. You're trying desperately to remove any space between you two. It’s the first time you’ve touched her, and it feels like you've been gone for much longer than six years, and this is the first time you’ve ever been home. Home is in her arms, you’re sure of it now.

“I'm sorry I--”

“I love you,” she whispers, cutting you off from apologizing. You shiver as you feel the words reverberate through her chest and into yours. “I love you so much. I’ve missed you. Don't apologize, I get it, just, please, don't leave me again. I won’t survive if you do.” Her hands tighten around your waist as Aden’s tiny hands squeeze your legs in an embrace that you’ve longed for for so long. 

You let the emotion wash over you of finally, finally being able to hold the woman you love. It's the first time since the day you met her all those years ago that you've been able to feel the beat of her heart against your own. You don't know how long you sit there, pressed against her. You laugh as you breathe in the scent of the woman that you’ve always, always loved. It hasn’t changed in the slightest. She hasn't changed in the slightest. She's still your everything. You know that there are hours upon hours of conversations that need to be had. There are hours of yelling and crying and kissing and yelling again. You don't care. You just want to be able to hold her after it's all said and done.

Aden clambers up onto the bed and you extend your arm out to him, pulling him as close as you possibly can, Clarke not too far behind. The bed is much too small for the three of you and you can't really breathe, but you're so overwhelmed with the warmth of their bodies, of finally being able to feel them both, to have them both in your life again -- to be able to finally  _ live _ that you don't care. 

The universe isn’t as cruel as you thought.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, and you mean it. You plan to never let go of either of them either again. 

“Let's go home,” Clarke says, but you know that you're already there. You're already home with her and your son finally in your arms.


End file.
